


Voices in Darkness

by AxeMeAboutAxinomancy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Johnlock Gift Exchange, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 09:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AxeMeAboutAxinomancy/pseuds/AxeMeAboutAxinomancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For bipedalmermaid, for the Johnlock Valentine's Day Gift Exchange on tumblr. "Sherlock's feelings are hurt by John, he tries to hide it, John eventually realizes and makes it up to him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voices in Darkness

In the darkness, John lifts his head and whispers, "What's the matter?"

In the darkness, Sherlock does not have to hide the look on his face as he's been doing for days now; he need only control his voice, and that he is capable of doing completely. John can hear Sherlock's breathing change according to what he is doing, but he cannot hear Sherlock's voice in moans or in words, because it isn't there to be heard: Sherlock is withholding it.

There isn't any question about the sex being unwanted, as Sherlock initiated it himself, pushing back rhythmically and meaningfully when John spooned up behind him. John hadn't initially been expecting it, that was obvious, but very quickly warmed up to the idea.

But over and over now, in the darkness, John has paused, waiting for sounds that he does not hear. Once reassured, usually by impatient hips or hands, that Sherlock wants him to continue, he does continue - but slows to a stop again in puzzled confusion and possibly disappointment (difficult to be sure of this in total darkness.) John, of course, loves Sherlock's voice, finds it intensely stimulating when they have sex. Sherlock uses it as a limb, a tongue, a stroking hand. When he feels like it.

Of course, he has to feel like it.

And since John hurt his feelings, he damned well doesn't feel like it.

Does John even remember what he said? It was days ago now. Sherlock has been very cold and blank since then and John has barely even noticed.

But he's starting to get the picture now, in the darkness. The darkness of their room... the dark room... the darkroom where John will get the picture, and the next thing will develop.

John is distracting him quite a lot now. In the absence of light, Sherlock has only sound (including echolocation) and these various stimuli by which to observe him. Sherlock can't keep back the sharp inhalation when John's mouth takes command of his cock, and then John's fingers in Sherlock's arse make multitasking impossible, and it is all he can do to hold back his voice after all.

Then John leaves off these distracting pastimes and crawls up on him and says softly in Sherlock's ear, "If you want more you'll have to say."

"Pff," a sharp, derisive exhalation. Not technically speech. It means, You'll get tired of waiting.

"I mean it."

For answer, Sherlock writhes under him, pushing up to fasten his mouth to the side of John's neck. No teeth, just his lips. It is one of several things known to drive John mad.

"Sherlock." John pushes up, though not away. "What's the matter? Did I do something wrong... recently? You've been quiet for a while now. Days."

Sherlock's silence intensifies. This is a nice trick if you can do it. Even he can't always.

"Tell me," John says, nuzzling his throat. "Did I say something? If you don't tell me I won't know. I'm sorry, whatever it was."

That's all Sherlock wanted! His smile, unseen, is wide in the darkness. It doesn't matter what John said, what he said was true, actually, but all he'd needed was this, an ordinary apology. It wouldn't matter in the least from any other person on earth, past or future, but John. It matters from John, because John means it, even when he doesn't remember what he said.

"Never mind," Sherlock purrs into John's ear. "It's fine. It's all fine. Fuck me."

There's just the slightest hesitation, as John wants to insist on some effort being made to explain - but John is a very, very clever man, actually, and can be counted on, when things are difficult, to know which way to jump. Sherlock's voice has been released from the place behind his teeth where he was holding it, and flows out smoothly in low moans and John's murmured name, an incantation.

When John has been long enough inside him that Sherlock is impatient for motion, Sherlock makes him change positions - well, 'makes' him. John will comply with any sane request in bed, and occasionally an insane one, if it's timed right. In this case all Sherlock wants is to be fucked from behind, and he says so, and enjoys the little shudder that he can feel going over John at the sound of Sherlock saying that.

They usually have the lights on, they both like to look, but not this time. Neither of them mentions it - as though the darkness is just a thing they're living with, like weather. Sherlock finds the edges of the headboard with his hands and steadies himself there as John gives him exactly what he asked for, and more - the sound of his own voice.

They both know, in the midst of the noise, that there will be teasing tomorrow from Mrs H and possibly others. But Sherlock having released his voice for John, he has no desire to suppress it any further; and John's appreciation is expressed not just vocally, but with physical enthusiasm that bangs the bed rhythmically into the wall. John has always worried about all these noises, but tonight he does not care, and Sherlock loves him for it.

It's just possible that this darkness has added an extra something for John - his ferocity is pleasing. Unparalleled. Sherlock gasps, "Yes, John yes, oh - " as John's right hand finds a hard grip in Sherlock's hair and pulls. Groaning, Sherlock lets go of the headboard, pushing back from it to lie on his face as John hammers him into the mattress. He keeps his head turned to the side so that John can still hear his voice, groaning and begging. "Please. Yes. Please."

And John, his John, would never leave him begging. John's voice has been ground down to harshness by now, but his words are music.

"You are amazing. God, Sherlock, you're a fucking miracle. I can't get enough of you."

Like Sherlock's voice, John's praise is like another lover in the bed. In the darkness, John's other hand is suddenly in possession of Sherlock's aching cock, firmly stroking. Taking control, changing the key.

And all the while fucking him, hard, insatiably hard, growling and cursing and praising and stroking, till Sherlock collides helplessly with orgasm, coming apart, screaming John's name hoarsely into the darkness. At the very end he feels John there with him, trembling and throbbing, fingers digging into Sherlock's hips.

His wits flow back together in ripples. John is laughing softly.

"Everybody on this street heard that," John says.

"Everybody on this street is acquainted with your sexual prowess, then," is what Sherlock wants to reply, but what comes out of his mouth is just a silly, befuddled noise, and John laughs again.

After a while, John says, softly and suddenly into the darkness, "I know now. It was the other day, wasn't it? just as we were leaving the Yard, and we were arguing and I said 'shut up'. I'm sorry about that. Really."

"Mm," Sherlock hums in a forgiving way, turns and slides his arms around John, and all is sorted.

That wasn't even the thing Sherlock had been mad about, but to hell with it now.

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone curious about writing process, here is a [post on my LiveJournal](http://axinomancy.livejournal.com/25618.html) detailing my attempts to write this story. Actually, I get stuck all the time! I have _so_ many partial stories.


End file.
